Read The Feathered Bone Online
Authors: Julie Cantrell
The Feathered Bone (19 page)
My husband climbs into the driver's seat, unlocking our doors from his control panel.
“Carl?” I plead with my eyes. “These people are going to need help anyway. Someone will have to cook for them. And you can see Beth needs moral support. Why don't we go home, take care of a few things, and then head back here? Do our part?”
“Amanda, you know as well as I do, Sarah's not going to show up here. It's a waste of time. We've got our own issues to worry about.”
“What issues, Carl? What issues do we have to worry about? Our daughter is with us. She's safe. We're not in the strike zone for this storm. Look at Beth and Preacher. Look at those families over there. We aren't the ones with any problems.”
“Well, I live in the real world, Amanda. And in the real world, we've got patio furniture to tie down, windows to secure, and a utility room door to barricade. So if you want to sit around the church all day and convince yourself these people need you, then go ahead. Suit yourself. But I'll be taking care of our family. The one you seem to ignore more and more each day.”
When we leave church, Carl drives to fill our extra fuel containers at the gas station. From here, we can see that the I-12 overpass
is at a standstill, packed with refugees who have fled the coastal parishes. The two main gas stations in Walker have as many as twenty vehicles in line for each lane, and handwritten signs already declare
Empty!
on a few of the pumps.
“This is pointless. No way am I waiting in line.” Carl turns the car around and we head home.
“Carl, there won't be enough rooms for all those refugees. We should go tell them they can stay at the church. They'll end up stranded.”
“Refugees?” He looks at me as if I've lost my mind. “Do you know how much we have to do?” His word is final. He keeps driving. “I swear, Amanda. Why can't you ever just shut up and look pretty?”
My stomach spins into a tightened knot, but I stay silent, looking back to Ellie with a smile. I hear my mother's voice again.
He doesn't mean it, Amanda. He's got a lot on his mind and he doesn't handle stress well. It's not his fault.
At home Carl turns on the television while I start a quick batch of dirty rice. From the living room, the weatherman's voice delivers stern warnings, reaching me in the kitchen as I chop vegetables, brown the meats, and boil water for rice.
“Hurricane Katrina . . . Devastating damage expected . . . Unprecedented strength . . . Most of the area will be uninhabitable for weeks . . . All gabled roofs will fail . . . All windows will blow out . . . Livestock exposed to the winds will be killed . . . Power outages for weeks . . . Water shortages will make human suffering incredible by modern standards . . .”
This last sentence brings me to the living room. “They're really
starting to sound as if this could be a big one,” I tell Carl. “Think we should board up the windows? Fill the tubs with water?”
“We can tape up, fill the tubs. But I'm not worried. It's their job to build hype.”
I glance out the window. Nothing more than normal afternoon winds. “But did you hear what they said about water shortages? I've never heard them talk like that.”
“ âHuman suffering incredible by modern standards.' ” He imitates the news report and scoffs. “Makes a good headline.”
On-screen a ticker scrolls at the bottom, flashing the words
CATASTROPHIC HURRICANE EXPECTED
.
Then they switch to a live feed of Mayor Nagin. Just as Brother Johnson predicted, he's announcing the first-ever mandatory evacuation of New Orleans and opening the Superdome as a shelter for those unable to leave the city.
As soon as the announcement is made, my phone rings. It's Beth. “Did you hear? They're telling people to go to the Superdome. Sarah could end up there. Amanda, this could be our chance. I can feel it.”
“How can I help?” I ask, tossing in some cayenne, salt, and pepper as I sauté the bell peppers, garlic, and green onions. “I can send e-mails. Call the news stations. What should I do?”
“Take care of your family, and I'll keep you posted,” she says. “Otherwise, for now, just pray.”
“Looks to me like it's turning east,” Carl says. It's been a tense day, but now that all the storm prep has been taken care of, he's finally able to relax. We climb into bed while the local weatherman tracks the storm on-screen. “It'll miss us completely. What'd I tell you?”
But the news reporters don't seem convinced. They broadcast from New Orleans, interviewing locals who have chosen to stay home despite the mandatory evacuation orders.
“I ain't for that leaving,” says a middle-aged woman with a thick New Orleans accent. “I rode out Betsy, and I'm gonna stay right here.”
The camera then shows footage from the early-evening broadcasts, with long lines of people going into the Superdome. “We're trying to spread the word,” says the correspondent. “Many people can't evacuate. They don't have transportation or the means to leave. A lot of them are elderly or ill or they simply have nowhere to go. As you can see, many are coming here to the dome.”
The camera zooms out for live footage within the Superdome. “We have food and water here. And if you look behind me, you'll notice the atmosphere is calm and peaceful. This building was designed to sustain winds higher than a Category 3, so it's a safe place.”
Then the anchor asks a few questions, and the field reporter tells us the rains started around seven thirty tonight. They cut to scenes of empty city streets as locals have hunkered down, ready for the worst. Heavy rains and winds are shown, but the brunt of the hurricane hasn't yet reached New Orleans.
“This is the calm before the storm. Some parts of the city are six feet below sea level,” the reporter says, reminding me of Miss Henderson's field trip lessons and The Day. “If the levees fail, waters could fill the city like a soup bowl. Especially low-lying areas.”
The screen then returns to the woman who is refusing to leave her home in the Lower Ninth Ward, an area that has been known to flood. “Get prayed up,” she says. “That's all we can do.”
As the news shifts back to Baton Rouge, the local weatherman suggests we may get lucky, saying the storm will likely stay east of
our capital city. “Nothing we can't handle,” Carl says. “Now, come here and let me show you what a real storm feels like.”
I laugh, letting him pull me close, glad his anxiety is waning. As the weather radars glow green in the background, I give in to every primal urge I feel when I am in my husband's arms. For the moment, I allow myself to leave the rest behind. The grief, the fears, the worries, all the hurts and scars and sinkings. I try to forget we've lost Sarah, and that a storm is pressing down on us, and that everything in our lives is being twisted from its foundation. Instead, I retreat to the safest place I know, Carl's body. And as we come together, I almost forget myself completely. There is no more worry. No more pain. No more me.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Hello Sparrow,
Did you see us leave? Did you see what happened?
The Man packed up a bunch of boxes and told me to get into the back of his truck, under the camper top so nobody would see me. I asked about Ellie. I didn't want to leave her behind. He laughed and said Ellie was dead. I started screaming and I hit him, so he threw me hard against the truck and told me to shut up. Then he said, “You're so stupid. We never had your little friend.”
So I asked him about the other girls, the ones in chains, and he laughed again and said, “Get it through your thick skull. We only have you.” Then he shoved me into the back of the truck, piled a bunch of boxes around me, and closed the door.
Pop always says it isn't right to hate anybody, but I hate The Man. I really hate him.
Hello Sparrow,
I am going to try to find the good. That's what Mom always says to do. So the good news is this: I snuck my notebooks and math books here with us because The Lady gave me a big black trash bag for my things. The Man was so worried about packing his own stuff, he never noticed.
I figured he would stop for gas. I had a plan. But he drove us straight to this new place, and he never stopped. Cars were next to us the whole way. I could hear the traffic. But I couldn't reach the windows. I never found a way to get help.
Now we're in this new place, and The Man says we have to stay here until the storm ends. The Lady says we should stay here forever. She likes it better here. I do too.
Hello Sparrow,
Do you hear the rain? I used to think a dragon lived in the clouds. His growl was thunder. His fire was lightning. Mom and Pop used to let me crawl into their bed on stormy nights. They'd read stories to me and sing until the bad weather went away.
I will keep singing all the songs Mom and Pop taught me.
